The Young Prey by Waugh Hillary

Author:Waugh, Hillary [Waugh, Hillary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Police Procedural
Publisher: Doubleday & Company
Published: 1969-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

There was no longer any door in the entrance at all and when Frank arrived, the only thing that identified it were the chalk designs in psychedelic curlicues and colors on the inside wall where a flight of wooden steps went up.

On the second floor there was a hall with doors on both sides. The first doorway was without a door, however, and hanging strings of multi-colored beads formed a kind of curtain. The room beyond was nearly bare. There was a straw mattress against the wall below a grimy window, there were a couple of orange crates covered with paper decorations, and nothing else except a barefooted girl wearing jeans and a man’s shirt with the tails hanging out. Her back was to the door and she was over by the side wall chalking a very colorful and elaborate design on it. It would eventually cover the whole of the wall but at this point she had only outlined the first third and was chalking in the spaces with the meticulous care of a muralist working in a permanent medium.

Frank rapped on the door frame and the girl turned around. She was a tall creature, at least five nine, with a very sweet, very pretty, very young face. She crossed to the door walking with a beautifully erect carriage, pushed the strings of beads aside, and leaned easily against the door frame. The shirt was sweaty, the soles of her feet were black, her ankles and hands were dirty. A rash of blackheads was erupting around her nose, and her hair, which was long, straight and blonde, was greasy looking. These were, however, matters that were of no concern to the girl. She smiled and said, “Yes?” to the detective with a warm desire to help.

Frank introduced himself and showed his shield. The girl smiled at it and at him with a pitying air. “What can I do for you?”

He asked about Callagan. She shrugged and said she didn’t know the man.

Three long-haired, bearded youths in dungarees, one carrying his shirt over his back, came up the stairs with a couple of bags of groceries. When they saw Sessions, they got noisy with questions. “Hey, Lisa. Whatchoo got, company?”

Lisa smiled at them fondly. “It’s the fuzz.”

“No shit.”

The three gathered close to inspect the detective. “Hey, look at that. It’s fuzz.”

“It’s real fuzz.”

“What is he looking for, Lisa? LSD?”

“He want to take a trip, Lisa?”

“Hey, Lisa. Tell him how you’d rather fuck us for nothing than fuck anybody else for dough.”

“Yeah. Tell him.”

She nodded and said to the detective, “That’s true.”

Sessions said, “Any of you know Callagan?”

“Callagan?”

One of the youths said, “He’s long gone, man.”

“He went south last winter,” another said.

“He’s farther gone than that,” the first said. “Man, he’s dead.”

“Dead?” the second said.

“He died down there.”

“That’s a shame. Callagan was a sweet guy.”

“They don’t come any better. Give you the shirt off his back.”

“When he happened to have a shirt.”

“What do you want with Callagan, fuzz?”

Sessions said it wasn’t Callagan.

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